Seperation Anxiety
by Jamie552
Summary: Sam had tried to forget but nothing could pull his thoughts from the much-loved companion he’d left standing alone at a bus station, over seven hundred miles away. Pre-series.


**Author's Note:** So after days without any kind of productive muse, she came back this morning and finally let me get this one finished. It's been sitting on my computer, half-done, for months and I have to be honest that I'm grinning like a moron to finally see it done lol Anyway, I hope you enjoy it...and as always, feedback makes my day :o)

**Disclaimer:** I mess with the brothers constantly with every fic I write, but I still have no ownership. Still waitin' for that damn wish to come true...

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"So you got everything you need?"

Sam nodded quickly, releasing the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. The strap of his army issue duffel bag was making his shoulder ache so he shifted it slightly, trying to find a position for it that didn't hurt. "Yeah, think so."

The bus station was bustling around them as they stood together at the front of the Impala. Dean was leaning back casually against the edge of the car's hood; his hands were shoved into the pockets of his worn leather jacket. He squinted in the sunlight and nodded his head, taking a cursory glance at the countless people that strolled past them.

It was nearly ten o'clock in the morning, and with Sam's bus scheduled to leave for California in only a few minutes time, the silence between the brothers had suddenly gotten tense.

Neither one of them had any idea to what to say.

And both knew that nothing they _could_ say would ever make a difference.

Things were changing, and even though both Winchesters were used to things changing _around_ them, things changing _between_ them was almost unbearable.

Sam took a deep breath and looked nervously down at the pavement between his shoes. "Are you gonna be ok?" His voice was rough and he swallowed hard, embarrassed.

"I'm always alright, Sammy." Dean responded cheekily. "You know me."

Sam's lips twitched slightly. "Yeah, I do…that's why I'm asking."

"Love the confidence, thanks a lot."

Sam smiled and absently adjusted the strap of his duffel again. For that single moment the tension that had been between them was gone.

For that single moment, it was easier to breathe.

Dean cleared his throat. "Look uh-" He paused for a second and Sam could practically _see_ the hesitance flash across his older brother's face. "I know that things are jacked up…but if you ever need anything-" Dean finally turned his head and they locked eyes. "You call me, ok?"

A swell of emotion took over Sam's chest—he felt a burning in his eyes, a constricting feeling in the back of his throat—the last thing he wanted to do at that moment was cry. The stress of the last few days finally seemed to catch up with him. He felt heavy, as if every limb was tied down with weights. He shifted on his feet just to prove to himself that he could still move.

Sam gave a small nod. "Yeah, ok."

"I mean it, Sammy." Dean's voice was incredibly serious Sam could see the waves of emotion in his brother's familiar green eyes. Both men were independently struggling to remain as stoic as possible—Sam, on the verge of tears…and Dean, on the verge of an angry explosion, simply because exploding was the only way to rid himself of his torrential feelings. He refused to cry. "You bein' alone out there and all. No matter what it is, I want you to call."

Sam swallowed hard. "You sure?"

"About what?"

"That you want me callin'?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and stood a little straighter. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Just with everything that happened-"

"It's bullshit, Sam."

Sam's head snapped up and he had to physically try to stop his mouth from popping open. Dean's eyes were flashing dangerously. "What?"

Motioning with a hand towards the road, in the direction they'd come from, Dean said, "What happened back there? With dad?" He shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket. "You? Leavin'? Runnin' away, half-way across the country? Tryin' to be somethin' you're not? It's bullshit."

At that moment, Sam had to bite down on his tongue in an effort to stop something ugly from coming out in response to his brother's words. Along with the genuine sadness that had taken over his chest, anger now violently and unceremoniously shoved its way in.

Dean either didn't notice, or didn't care.

Sam assumed that it was the latter.

"I know it's what you want, man; I mean, look at you, you're fightin' like hell for it." Dean shrugged, catching his lower lip between his teeth for a second. "It's just…"

"It's just what?" Sam's voice was hoarse again.

After a minute, Dean breathed a bitter laugh and shook his head, looking down to the pavement. "I don't know, man."

"Yes, you do. Tell me."

Sam waited for Dean to meet his gaze, to raise his eyes from their spot on the pavement and tell their story.

It had been that way for most of their lives, especially as Dean had gotten older. Getting him to _talk_ about his feelings was close to impossible but one look in those green eyes and Sam knew all he needed to know; he could tell immediately where Dean's head was at, how he was feeling, and what he was thinking with nearly one hundred percent exactness.

It was an ingrained brotherly connection. And even though both sometimes had moments where they wished it didn't exist, there were also moments that they couldn't help but be thankful that it did.

Dean finally raised his eyes and Sam took the opportunity—his brother's eyes were heavy, anger and sadness waging a way in the green and gold depths. Things were changing, their _family_ and their _existence_ were changing…and if Sam could see anything at that moment, he could see that Dean was absolutely terrified.

He took a deep breath and spoke awkwardly, "We're still gonna be a family-"

"Don't say that, Sam."

And just as easily as that, Sam ran into the brick wall that was his older brother.

There was a sudden rumble as an enormous grey coach bus pulled into the station from the main road, the electric sign in the upper corner of the windshield loudly proclaiming _California_ as its destination.

"That your bus?"

Sam pulled his eyes from the slowly stopping bus and nodded his head. "Yeah."

Dean reached a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet, glancing up quickly. "Come here." Swallowing hard Sam took a few cautious steps forward, watching as Dean opened the wallet and pulled out a small bundle of bills; Dean folded the bundle in half and held it out. "Take this. Four-hundred bucks-"

Sam was already shaking his head. "Dean, no-"

"Just shut up and take it. I know you don't have any-"

"But it's yours-"

Dean let out a loud breath and surged forward, forcing the money into the side pocket of Sam's jacket. "Just…take the damn money, Sam."

As if things weren't weird enough before—older brother giving little brother money increased the weirdness ten-fold. Sam immediately started fidgeting. "Thanks."

"Make sure you hit the head before gettin' on the bus, Sam, I've heard rumors about those bus bathrooms. Damn scary, dude."

A small smile came to Sam's face and he absently nodded. "Yeah, I've heard that, too."

It was an attempt at lightness and Sam was grateful for it.

That was _another_ norm in their lives; it didn't matter how dire or helpless their situation was, Dean, somehow, always found the humor in it. He did it for two reasons; to make _himself_ feel better, and more importantly, to make _Sam_ feel better.

"Maybe I'll…give you a call later, y'know, once I get settled?"

Dean cleared his throat, re-situating himself to lean back against the car. "Yeah, sure."

The sudden blare of the PA system made Sam jump.

"_Attention all passengers, the 10:30am Greyhound to Fresno, California, is preparing to depart from platform 'E'. Please have tickets ready for presentation and luggage ready for storage."_

Dean nodded towards the bus. "Thought you were goin' to Palo Alto?"

"I have to transfer in Fresno."

"Long-ass drive."

Patting the side of his bag, Sam said, "I have some stuff to read."

Dean raised his hand suddenly and held it out in invitation. They stared at each other for the shortest instant before Sam nervously returned the gesture, the brother's grasping hands tightly; Dean unexpectedly used the hold to pull Sam close into a rough hug, trying desperately not to bury his face into the kid's shoulder.

The familiar smell that was _Sam_. The familiar _feeling_ that was Sam. The older brother was used to having it around him, was used to living with it and living _for_ it. The idea of losing it?

Dean forced himself to let go and he cleared his throat. "You better get goin'." He said quietly, watching as the driver of the bus slammed the storage door down. "Don't want 'em leavin' without you."

"I'll call you tonight."

Sam's words were so definite, so solid, that Dean knew under normal circumstances he'd probably smile at his little brother's determination. But as easy as his smile was, as care-free as it was, it wouldn't come; he had no energy left for smiles.

Dean Winchester didn't have energy left for anything.

He didn't trust his voice, so he merely swallowed hard and forced himself to nod.

It was as emotional as Dean would allow himself to appear on the outside…but on the inside, he was screaming.

With a hidden air of reluctance, Sam grasped his bag tight and took a few steps backwards towards the bus. Before turning around, he said, "Thanks, Dean."

And once again, all Dean could do was nod.

Words weren't possible as he watched his little brother—his purpose— break into a gentle run to join the small queue still milling about outside the door of the bus.

Sam, for his part, was fighting an almost insurmountable desire to turn and look at his big brother—his best friend—over his shoulder.

Sam had _made_ the choice to leave.

Dean had _made_ the choice to stay.

It didn't make _any_ of it any easier.

************************

The Impala was eerily silent as Dean drove. There was no music, no relentless current of air from an open window, no percussion beats being played out on the steering wheel.

There was just the engine's throaty rumble to keep him company.

And for the first time in his twenty-two-years, his girl wasn't nearly enough.

He'd stayed at the bus station until long after the dreaded Greyhound had left, leaning back against the car with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. He kept telling himself he kept them in his pockets because they were cold…but he was in warm Arizona, and in reality, he kept his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't have to see them shaking.

He'd kept his eyes on Sam as he'd boarded the bus. He'd kept his eyes on Sam through the darkly tinted windows as he'd made his way down the aisle, sliding into a window seat close to the very back.

And then _Sam_ had kept his eyes on _him_, one hand pressed to the glass of the window as the bus pulled slowly out of the station.

Dean hadn't had it in him to wave.

As crazy as it was, waving felt like a submission. An acceptance of the truly ridiculous and unnecessary situation the Winchester family currently found themselves in.

Their dad had practically dared Sam to leave, and throughout their lives Dean had never known his little brother to back down from a challenge. He wished that the phrase '_there's a first time for everything' _applied…but it didn't even come close.

Dean had asked himself probably a thousand times since Sam had first walked away from him _why in the hell_ he was letting it happen. He could've asked his little brother to stay—outlined every possible reason, every possible benefit of the two of them staying together. Protection, piece of mind, security…but most of all, sheer need. The brothers had been attached at the hip since Lawrence and the idea of having an entire friggin' country between them was enough to make Dean's stomach clench.

Sam wasn't safe unless Dean could _see_ that he was safe with his own eyes.

Sam wasn't safe unless he was with his brother.

Dean wasn't complete unless Sam was sitting beside him.

Which was the reason why the Impala felt so empty, and Dean felt so utterly alone.

It was almost four-and-a-half hours after Sam's departure that Dean finally made his way back to the run-down motel he was now sharing, on his own, with his dad. He was dreading walking into that room. The anger that he felt deep in the core of his chest was just waiting for an outlet, a reason to explode in a shower of fire and bitterness that was sure to knock the oldest Winchester right on his ass.

Controlling intense emotion, namely fury, was not Dean's forte.

He cut the engine to the Impala and slid from the car, slamming the door a little harder then what was necessary. He knew that once he calmed down he'd regret the action, but at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

The door of their room was open and he let himself in, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. There was only one light on—the small lamp that his dad had moved from the bedside table to the dining table back near the kitchen.

And there he sat. John Winchester himself. Nose buried into a research text, his fingers rhythmically rubbing his temples as if fighting off the effects of a headache.

Dean's anger was already spiking. He didn't even try to hold it in…he couldn't. "Interesting book?"

After a few seconds, John raised his head and locked his tired eyes on Dean's obviously angry face. "What?"

"I asked you if that was an interesting book."

"It's '_Binsfeld's Classification of Demons_', what do _you_ think?"

"Well, I mean, it was interesting enough for you to sit there on your ass, researching, while Sam got on a bus in Phoenix…must be one hell of a page-turner-"

"Dean-" John's voice was suddenly dangerous. "Watch your tone."

"_Watch my tone_? Are you kiddin' me? Sammy's gone, dad! He left! And you're tellin' me to _watch my tone_?"

"It was your brother's choice-"

"You practically dared him to do it, old man."

The book John had been reading slammed shut deafeningly and Dean could feel the glare aimed at him as he shed his leather jacket.

"I told him if he walked out that door not to come back and he walked out anyway! I _told_ him not to leave and he left. He disobeyed an order."

"No, what he did was _accept a challenge_." Dean threw his jacket onto his bed violently and returned his father's glare. "You told him how it was and he threw it right back in your face."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were proud of him."

Dean didn't hesitate. "I didn't want him to leave. But standin' up to you and calling your bluff? Yeah, I'm proud of him."

John's eyes flashed. "You think it's good for him bein' out there? On his own? Away from his family?"

"You're the one who told him to stay gone, dad. He didn't come up with that on his own."

"Sam accepted the terms. That's all there is to it."

Dean felt himself deflate in disappointment and nearly implode with fury at the same time. It was exhausting. "Is that all you can see?" He watched as John once again opened the book and directed his eyes to the printed page. "What, that you put the offer on the table and Sam _took_ it? _That's_ what you're worried about?"

John spoke in a flat voice. "What else is there?"

"_What else is there_? How about the fact that your son—_my_ little brother!—is out there on his own! With nothin' but a piece of crap duffel and four-hundred bucks-"

"Where'd he get the money?"

Dean's tirade stalled and he blinked stupidly. "What?"

"Where did Sam get the money?"

"I gave it to him." Dean immediately saw where the direction of conversation was going and decided to head it off before it got vicious. "It was my poker winnings from last night."

"You gave Sam your poker winnings?"

"It'll do more good in his pocket than in mine."

"We'll have to get some more cash before we leave town tomorrow night, the Impala needs gas."

And it was right then that Dean knew the conversation would have to come to an end. For the first time, he knew he wouldn't hesitate in crossing the room and punching his idiot father right in the face…and for the first time, he thought of John Winchester as his _idiot father_ and didn't feel guilty about it.

It was obvious to see that his dad was holding in whatever emotion he was feeling—whether it was sadness that the family had now dwindled to two, or whether it was anger at his orders being disobeyed, Dean didn't know. John Winchester's jaw was tight and strained, a sure sign of intense emotion…Dean recognizing it immediately because it was a trait he'd inherited.

But holding in emotion wasn't good enough. It wasn't _nearly_ good enough, not when it came to Sammy leaving.

As far as Dean was concerned, they should've piled into the car and started the drive to Fresno—trailing behind Sam's bus and kidnapping him at the first stop.

But the older brother knew that an action like that wasn't in the cards.

It would be way too much to expect…way too much to hope for.

Dean was suddenly very tired.

He took one look at the bed he'd been sharing with Sam up until the night before and knew right away there was no chance in hell he'd be able to sleep in it. So as stoically as possible, he grabbed his jacket, his duffel bag and the car keys.

John raised his head as Dean walked to the door. "Where are you going now?"

"I gotta lay down, I'll be in the car."

And without a single backwards glance, or another word, Dean left the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

The back seat of the Impala was comfortable enough. The familiar vinyl had been everything from tables to beds to game boards as he and Sam had gotten older.

Now it would serve as a safety blanket. A grotto for an emotionally wrecked Dean Winchester to try and find some sort of balance. Some sort of peace.

Now, at just over six feet tall, the back seat wasn't nearly large enough to accommodate him. But he remembered a time when _both_ him and Sam fit in snugly, their small arms wound around each other as they shared the only warm blanket.

The last time Dean had slept in the back seat of the car, he'd been twelve years old and he'd had Sam lying with him.

The smell that was _Sam_ and the _feeling_ that was Sam.

It felt strange lying in the back seat without him.

**************************

The campus was larger than Sam had ever imagined it would be.

Academic buildings and residences, two hospitals and several clinics, parking lots, theatres, bars and bookstores. Stanford was its own little city; a hub of cars, students, business and learning.

For the first few minutes after stepping off the Palo Alto transit bus, Sam had been in complete and utter shock. He took the time to look around and figure things out, making a point of filing away certain places and important locations for future use. He took in the sights of the people, recognizing individuals from every race, every corner of the world.

It seemed so much larger than him, the idea of thousands of people converging on this one spot of land. People from everywhere.

It was a _new_ world, and as he'd been told by a professor he'd met randomly on the bus, it was _his_ world.

Only _his_ world was far more complicated than the world's of the people around him.

The ten hour drive from Arizona had been completely miserable, and even though Sam had tried to lose himself in pamphlets about his residence—Oak Creek—nothing could pull his thoughts and attention from the much-loved companion he'd left standing alone at a bus station, over seven hundred miles away.

Dean.

His best friend in the whole world.

Yeah…Sam was completely miserable.

It took nearly an hour and a half of wandering around the campus aimlessly before he managed to miraculously stumble across the front walkway of his residence. The hall was enormous and Sam struggled to grab his housing assignment from a side pocket of his duffel bag.

"Apartment…4C." He mumbled quietly to himself, studying the paperwork before he absently started walking towards the building.

He crashed into _at least_ five other people on his journey up the walk, his eyes firmly on the paper in his hand.

Not for the first time that day, he wished Dean were with him. His brother's uncanny sense of direction would be only one of the small—but soothing—perks of having him there.

Support.

Sarcasm and teasing.

There, surrounded by people he didn't know, Dean's presence would've made all the difference.

The front foyer of Oak Creek apartments was completely rammed with people, suitcases, large cardboard boxes and plastic bags busting with freshly bought groceries. Sam maneuvered through the obstacles as best he could, trying to avoid stepping on something vital—like people's toes, for example...or randomly placed cartons of eggs.

And there, standing just off to the side, was a blonde-haired girl who was probably a year or two older than Sam, and from the looks of her, she was a bouncing ball of pure energy. She wore a t-shirt that said, _'Need help? Just ask!'_ in bold red writing…and the smile on her face was so welcoming, Sam almost smiled, too.

Still treading softly, he made his way over to her and cleared his throat to get her attention. She diverted her attention and beamed at him. "Can I help you?"

"Uh—" Feeling like a complete moron, he practically waved the housing assignment in her face. "I'm looking for…apartment 4C?"

She nodded, moving to study the assignment paper herself. "Are you freshman law?"

"Yeah."

Her smile widened. "I'm in law, myself. Welcome to Stanford."

Sam very nearly blushed. "Thanks."

"Just tell me where your car is parked and I'll send a couple people out to help you bring your luggage in-"

"Uh-" Sam started shaking his head and she looked at him curiously. "I don't…have a car…and uh…_this_-" He gestured with his duffel bag. "This is my luggage."

The girl blinked at him for a moment and then went right back to smiling; she spoke in a considerably softer voice. "Ok, well, then-" She motioned towards an alcove off of the entryway. "There are elevators over that way. You'll want to head up to the fourth floor and your house should be just down the hallway on your right."

Swallowing hard, Sam nodded. "Ok…thank you."

"Don't be nervous." She said quietly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I don't think there's anyone in your apartment yet, so you'll have some time to settle in before you meet your roommate."

And at that, Sam felt considerably better.

The climb in the elevator was astoundingly quick and Sam soon found himself wandering the halls. Apartment 4C was down the hallway and on the right, just as the girl had told him, and he was relieved to find that the door was unlocked.

He let himself in slowly and took a nervously nauseating look around. The living room was right inside the doorway, and while it wasn't huge, it was a nice size. The leather sofa and big screen TV made him chuckle, thinking of what Dean would say if he'd been able to see it.

The medium-sized kitchen was off to the left through a small archway and the hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom was off to the right.

The two bedrooms were thankfully the same size and Sam staked his claim on the first room he came across. There was a double bed in the corner, along with a dresser, desk, chair…and a truly enormous closet that his meager wardrobe wouldn't even come _close_ to filling.

While his room was fully furnished, and the bed made, it felt cold. Even though the motel rooms he'd called home over the years weren't exactly big on the warm and fuzzies, they'd felt warmer…cozier. Maybe it was the company or the idea that he was with family that made the difference.

Crossing the room, Sam pulled his duffel bag from his shoulder and let out a sigh as he sank down onto the plushy mattress.

And for the first time in his life he wished he was squished into the back seat of the Impala, fighting with Dean for the one lone blanket.

It was ironic.

He'd gotten what he wanted, but he'd lost what he'd had.

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Sam let out another sigh and fell backwards onto his bed. He held the little device in his hand, instinctively pulling up his phone book and scanning through the numbers.

Finding the one he wanted, he hesitated for only a single second before putting the call through, moving the phone to his ear.

He was so anxious he actually counted the rings.

"_Yeah?"_

At the sound of his brother's voice, Sam couldn't help but smile. He felt his entire body relax at the familiarity of it. The voice that had been like a security blanket for as long as he could remember. "Hey Dean."

"_Sammy?"_ There was surprise in his voice, along with a barely contained note of relief. Sam's smile widened just a bit. _"How…are you doin?"_

"I'm ok. Just…made it into my new place."

"_Christ, don't tell me you're just gettin' there now."_

"Ten hour drive, Dean."

"_On a bus, too. Talk about drivin' without style, man."_

It was very nearly a forced lightness and Sam had to force down a swallow before he could talk again. "So…where are you?"

"_Heading to Salt Lake City."_

"Utah? What are you doin' goin' there?'

"_Heard there was a poltergeist, decided I needed a job."_

"You with dad?"

Dean was silent for a moment and Sam instantly wondered if he'd stuck his foot in his mouth. Eventually, though, Dean's voice came back through. _"No, I'm not. Left dad back in Phoenix, he had a couple things to take care of and I wanted to leave."_

Sam caught his lower lip between his teeth for a second and let out a quiet breath.

"_So you're doin' alright?"_

He nodded even though Dean couldn't see it. "Uh…yeah, I'm good."

"_Look…uh…I didn't…get the chance to tell you before you left. But uh…you take care of yourself out there, kid, ok?"_

Emotions started to surface. "Ok, Dean."

"_Don't take any crap from those blonde-haired surfer boys-"_ Sam couldn't help but chuckle. "_You can kick their asses, don't go forgettin' it."_

"I won't."

There was a short silence over the line where all Sam could hear was the roar of the Impala as Dean hit the accelerator. He could picture it in his mind as easily as anything—a quiet back country road, a light breeze and the beloved Chevy, tearing down the blacktop unhindered.

It was freedom.

Even though, for most of his life, Sam had thought of it as a prison.

"_You still with me over there?"_

Sam snapped out of it and nodded again. "Yeah, I'm here."

"_You still got that money I gave you?"_

"Yeah, I have it in my bag."

"_There's roughly eight-hundred bucks there, do with it what you can-"_

"I thought you said it was four-hundred?"

"_Yeah, well, I lied."_ Dean paused slightly. "_If the time comes and you need more…lemme know, I'll try and get it to you."_

"Dean, you don't have to do that-"

"_You're my little brother, Sam. Yes, I do."_

Sam took a deep breath and took the plunge. "I know you're not happy about me leavin', Dean, you don't need to support me while I'm here-"

"_I'm not happy about it, but you're my responsibility. If you're determined to do this crazy thing, then fine, but don't even think about askin' me to stop bein' your brother."_

"You're so damn stubborn."

"_Yeah, well, same gene pool, dude."_

Sam chuckled again. "Yeah, I guess."

From his position lying on his bed, Sam could hear the front door of the apartment bang open. There were voices—at least three—and he instantly felt nervous.

His roommate had arrived. And the voices only got louder.

"_What the hell is that noise? You havin' a party already, Sammy?"_

"Yeah, hardly." He spoke in a quiet voice, sitting up and trying his best to see out into the hallway. "My roommate just got here."

"_You should go, man. Don't be anti-social before you even meet the guy."_

The idea of hanging up made Sam's inside squirm uncomfortably and he once again started wishing for his big brother's presence at his side. Dean was a buffer; a sure-fire way to lighten up any possible situation.

That, and just having Dean beside him brought Sam crashing out of anxious and landing right into calm and collected.

"_Seriously, dude, go. I'll talk to you in a couple days."_

Sam's anxiousness was nearly suffocating. "Dean…"

After spending their entire lives together, Sam knew his brother inside and out. He knew and understood Dean's body movements, facial expressions, vibes…but most importantly, he knew his brother's voice and every possible inflection when Dean spoke his name.

There was absolutely no doubt in Sam's mind that Dean was the same way.

So the fear, nervousness, panic and need in Sam's voice when he said his brother's name at that moment was impossible not to notice.

"_Sammy, listen to me, ok?"_ Stupidly, Sam nodded again. "_You're there, you're happening, you're moved in. You're so goddamn adorable, there's no chance this is gonna be hard. Just hang up the friggin' phone, go out there and start makin' some geeky little friends."_

And there, in essence, was Dean Winchester's method of encouragement.

And dammit, it made Sam feel better.

He laughed quietly and forced himself to stand up from the bed, self-consciously straightening out his shirt. He could hear the roar of the Impala again and smiled into the phone. "Thanks, Dean."

"_No worries, Sam. Get out there."_

"Couple days?"

"_We'll talk in a couple days."_

"Don't forget."

"_Yeah, right, whatever." _There was a pause, and then a heartfelt, "_Bye, Sammy."_

"Bye, Dean."

Sam waited until he heard the line go dead before snapping his own cell phone closed. The voices were now comically loud as he heard what sounded like someone directing something huge down the narrow hallway; there would be arguing and then a relentless bashing sound as whatever the item was crashed into the wall brutally.

Whoever it was needed help.

So Sam took the opportunity and cautiously left his room, his eyes falling on his new roommate for the first time.

For years, it had been Dean who'd been his roommate. But the carrot-topped boy conversing with his family before shooting him a cheerful smile was as far away from Sam's brother as a person could be.

It was a new world, full of new people and new opportunities.

But as always, Sam took his brother's advice…and he started making himself some _geeky little friends_.

Without his brother there at his side, it was the only thing Sam could do.


End file.
